A Love Hate Thing Page 5

  She shrugged as she sat up and eyed some surfer. “What? He’s gotta be better than Chad. I mean, Chad’s cute and all, but he doesn’t exactly strike me as the fun and kinky type.”

  He wasn’t. But that wasn’t a problem for me. I liked how slow and romantic he was when we were together—unless he was in a rush and had to see some shitty game on TV and barely cared if I got my happy ending.

  Chad was safe, though, safe and normal and from Pacific Hills—not that that was saying much, since Pacific Hills had its faults. A lot of women were surgically enhanced gossip queens, and a lot of men were absent due to work or affairs. We might have been safer, but we knew how to cook up some pretty steamy drama as well.

  Shayne was no stranger to drama. When her parents had gone through their messy divorce, she became Shayne 2.0, lost and sad most of the time due to their constant fighting. And then there was the custody battle that left her completely drained. Taylor, her mother, was heavily medicated or liquored up most of the time, so Sheen, her father, had won.

  That all happened before high school. The present Shayne wasn’t one to do personal drama and let people in on her private affairs, but she sure loved getting the scoop on others. I didn’t want to feed her appetite for entertainment, and if it killed me, I would keep the Tyson situation under control.

  “I love Chad, Shayne, I’m not going to cheat on him with some creep,” I replied.

  Shayne shrugged. “Suit yourself. Mind if I give it a go?”

  Erica sat up and removed her sunglasses and began packing her bag. “No way, Shayne, we’re not going there.”

  “Why not? Nandy doesn’t want him.”

  “You haven’t even met him! And didn’t the last guy you messed with go stalker on you?”

  Shayne sat back and thought about it. “Hmm, maybe you’re right, but still.”

  Shayne Mancini was a beautiful Sicilian girl. She had curly dark brown hair that never got frizzy or out of place, big chocolate-brown eyes, and a perfect tan. She liked boys, and boys loved her. Only Erica and I knew that she was more of a romantic and super picky when it came to guys.

  I was with Erica—Shayne messing with Tyson seemed like a bad idea.

  “Looks like I’ve gotta warn him away from you, too,” I said as I stood and gathered my things.

  “What?” Shayne wanted to know.

  “He’s already met Travis, and trust me, I won’t let that duo start.”

  Shayne scowled. “Travis Catalano is vagina kryptonite. I swear, you look into those eyes of his and see that smile, and the next thing you know, you’re horizontal in some changing room at the mall wondering if the sales tag is going to leave a mark as it’s digging into your back.”

  Seeing the confused looks from both Erica and me, Shayne smiled. “Or so I’ve heard.”

  “Didn’t that happen to Kayla Nichol?” Erica questioned as she stood as well.

  Shayne grabbed her things and stood up, too. “You didn’t hear it from me, but she left the state for a month to get over him.”

  “And now Carina Botwin is obsessed with him.” I sighed, thinking of the bubbly blonde who talked about Travis every chance she got.

  Shayne took the lead to the parking lot as we followed behind. “Be careful, girls, we don’t want either of you becoming one of Travis Catalano’s victims.”

  I’d known Travis since he and his family had moved in next door when I was eleven. I’d thought he was the cutest thing for all of two seconds, before he kissed Valerie Ortega and Jenna Fox and the two fought over him. He thought it was a big joke and wanted neither girl in the end. Some said rich boys didn’t have hearts. Travis Catalano proved they were right.

  “Done,” I said as we made it to my car, where Shayne was parked beside me. “We’re going to the club, right? And then back to my place to surf Netflix?”

  “I can do lunch, but I gotta jet after. The stepmonster needs a ride to go shopping to cope with her latest attempt, and I’m her chauffeur since her Audi’s in the shop.”

  My shoulders sagged and I went forth to hug her. “Sorry, Shayne.”

  “Don’t worry, tonight I’ll meet you guys at the party.”

  Dickie was throwing a party at the beach, and I had to think of a way to go without being forced to take Tyson along.

  “Can’t wait,” I said, putting on a convincing smile.

  * * *

  After lunch Erica and I went back to my place to watch some TV and relax. Or I would’ve been able to do so had it not been for the sight that greeted us as we got out of my car and made our way to the front door. Tyson sat out on our front step getting his hair braided by some girl who was listening to rap music that was playing on her phone, and neither of them seemed ashamed of what they were doing out in broad daylight for all to see.

  Erica wasn’t fazed as she bobbed her head to the beat of the song. “Gotta love K-Dot.”

  I didn’t know who that was, nor did I care. I was too busy being embarrassed.

  What would our neighbors think?

  I would not let Tyson and his antics ruin my debut—or ruin me.

  “Go inside, E,” I said as I glared at Tyson.

  Erica rolled her eyes, facing Tyson and the girl and offering a wave. “Hey, I’m Erica.”

  The girl lifted her chin in greeting while Tyson spoke up. “Trice.”

  “Atasha, but my friends call me Tasha,” the girl responded with a friendly smile. “And you right about Kendrick.”

  With pleasantries made, Erica went in without me, and I stood where I was, keeping a safe distance between myself and the two teens in front of me.

  Tyson looked at me impassively.

  “This ain’t the hood, Tyson. We do not braid hair on the front step,” I said.

  Tasha stopped what she was doing and cocked her head, seeming offended.

  Without turning around, Tyson simply raised his hand, and Tasha went back to his hair.

  Instead of saying anything, Tyson returned to reading the book I suddenly realized was in his hands. To make matters more messed up, Tasha wasn’t braiding his hair, I realized, but undoing his braids. Beside her sat some clippers. He was getting a haircut. On the front step!

  Further embarrassed, I stomped by them and headed inside.

  In the kitchen, I found a bag of groceries on the counter and pans taken out. He was seriously going to cook us dinner, and he’d even gone out of his way to get food. My stomach felt fuzzy at the thought of him preparing a meal for us.

  Jordy came into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I said softly, still staring at the things on the counter, unable to believe what was before my eyes.

  “I’m going to play soccer with Hector, okay? I’ll be back later. Trice said he’d play me on Xbox.”

  My head snapped in my younger brother’s direction. “What?”

  Jordy fiddled with the soccer ball in his hands. “Well, he’s new here and he has no friends. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to make him feel like he belongs, you know?”

  I couldn’t tell my brother to mistreat someone he didn’t know. I couldn’t teach him that it was wrong to make new people feel like they belonged. I couldn’t say anything.

  “Yeah, that’s nice, I’ll see you later.” I went up to my room and sat with Erica, watching TV and thinking of anything that didn’t revolve around the newest arrival to the Smith household.

  7 | Trice

  Dinner was served. Lemon-and-herb-seasoned chicken breasts over brown rice with a side of broccoli and asparagus. Max had gotten out wine for Parker and herself, while Nandy, Jordy, and I settled between water, iced tea, and Diet Coke. I’d made a salad as well, since Nandy was preparing for some debut and might be picky about what she ate.

  We all sat in the Smiths’ luxury dining room, under the crystal
chandelier, with Parker and Max on each end of the table, Jordy beside me and Nandy on the other side of the long table, nearest Parker.

  “This is very good, Trice,” Max spoke up, interrupting the sounds of forks and knives hitting plates. “I don’t think Parker and I have ever done so well.”

  She was being modest. The dinners she’d made Sunday and Monday had been good, far better than the takeout I’d been forced to eat for months.

  “Thank you,” I said anyway.

  “I think with the amount of money we spend each year on takeout, we’d be able to fund a few college tuitions around here,” Parker joked.

  “This is really good,” Jordy said. “I’m glad we didn’t get takeout.”

  The Smiths collectively agreed, except Nandy, who continued eating quietly.

  “I like what you did with your hair. I think you look very handsome,” Max noted.

  Parker eyed my haircut and nodded. “Who lined you up? They did a pretty good job.”

  “My friend Tasha from back home.” Tasha had been raised in a house full of boys, and her father had bailed when they were all young. With her being the second oldest, and looking up to her older brother, she was more of a tomboy than anything. She’d learned to cut and braid hair and give advice. She’d been cutting my hair since we were kids, and at first some of my friends thought it was lame that I was going to a girl instead of one of the neighborhood barbers, but when they saw how skilled she was with a set of clippers, they shut up.

  I’d needed a ride after my meeting at the school, and Tasha was one of the only civil-headed people I knew from Lindenwood whom I trusted to come and help me out. She thought Pacific Hills was strange, too uppity and nosy. When we’d gone shopping, we’d gotten stared at. Me probably for being over six foot, dark-skinned with braids, and wearing black clothing, and her for wearing baggy basketball shorts, a black tank top, and having her hair up in a ponytail. It was obvious we didn’t belong, but unlike some of my friends, Tasha didn’t act up due to the rude stares and whispers, she just kept telling me about the neighborhood and I pretended no one was paying us any attention.

  “She did a great job. Maybe we can get Jordy in her chair,” Parker joked, causing Jordy to make a face.

  “Or her step,” Nandy mumbled.

  “How was the meeting?” Parker asked.

  Nandy looked up from her plate, her eyes alarmed, as if she were nervous I’d snitch on her.

  “It was okay.”

  I thought back to the meeting. Lydia was one of those people who believed in everybody, no matter where they came from. Something about her left me feeling comfortable, and maybe a little optimistic, too. After we’d finished talking about things someday getting better, she’d opened my file and made a face that let me know I was in for a lecture.

  She’d shaken her head and set the file aside, then stared at me, appearing unimpressed. “Trice, you’re ironic, you know that?”

  “How so?”

  “Truancy upon truancy, and yet your test scores are immaculate.”

  I hadn’t ditched school because it was hard. I’d ditched to be with my friends. But even when I had ditched, I’d managed to study at the end of the day.

  “I’m not seeing the issue,” I replied.

  Lydia smirked. “No more truancy, okay? Now, your papers in English are another thing.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “It’s what’s not wrong with them. You’ve got an amazing voice. Have you ever thought about being a writer?”

  From there I shot her down. I just wanted to pass the classes I’d failed. I wasn’t up for career advice, even if she did think I had a story to tell that boys from all notorious cities could relate to. A story of survival and resilience.

  I didn’t care about all that.

  It wasn’t like I’d gotten an elated feeling out of living through it anyway.

  “They’re making you read?” Jordy asked, drawing my attention back to the current conversation. “I saw you reading earlier.”

  “School starts next week, and Lydia said I’ve gotta write a paper on a book of my choosing for English.”

  “Oh yeah? What are you reading?” Max asked.

  “Roots,” I answered as I glanced her way. “I’ve read it before, and it’s one of my favorites.”

  “Mine, too. I feel like every black child should read it and watch the film.”

  Nandy clicked her tongue. “That book is so thick.”

  Her words irritated me. “It goes all the way back to Africa—it tells everything.”

  “Doesn’t make it any less of a long read. I did like the original series, though.”

  “The book gives more detail. It’s our history. Everyone should read about where they come from.”

  Max gave me an apologetic smile. “She doesn’t even like her name.”

  I bet she didn’t.

  Nandy cringed. “It’s a weird name. I prefer Nan.”

  People like Nandy annoyed the hell out of me. I bet if she had a choice, she’d read about Marie Antoinette or some shit.

  “I bet you wish your name was Jessica or Rebecca, huh?” I doubt she caught my annoyance by the way she perked up at the suggestion.

  “Anything’s better than Nandy,” she said.

  “If you knew your history, you’d know that Nandi was an African queen, mother of Shaka, one of the most influential leaders in African culture. It is not a weird name, it’s an honor.” I stopped, feeling way too connected to the story of Shaka and Nandi.

  Nandy appeared surprised at the revelation.

  “We actually named Nandy after Queen Nandi. Perhaps we’ll all watch Shaka Zulu together one day,” said Max. “It’s a great film.”

  Parker nodded, raising his glass of wine to agree with his wife. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Max.”

  Nandy actually seemed on board by the small smile on her face, almost like the idea didn’t bother her. Maybe she’d grow to appreciate her name if she saw the film.

  “Hey, do you guys remember when you were kids and Nandy had you square dancing in the street?” Max brought up.

  I looked at Nandy, and she looked at me, her eyes softening. She remembered, just as I did. She’d demanded that we go outside and dance right after we’d kissed in the closet. She was always bossy like that, so of course Max found us five minutes later out in the street dancing away, linked by our elbows.

  Nandy focused back on her plate for just a moment before pulling out her cell phone and standing up. “Dinner was amazing, Tyson, thanks.” She studied her parents. “I sorta made plans to go to this party with my friends, can I go now?”

  Parker peered at Max, who was already looking his way.

  “Sure, and why don’t you bring Trice along? I’m sure he could stand to make a few new friends,” Parker suggested.

  Nandy frowned. “I don’t think Trice would want to miss out on reading.”

  “As he said, he’s already read the book.” Parker went on, “Either Trice goes, or you don’t.” He stared at his daughter, clearly meaning business. “Now, which will it be?”

  Nandy didn’t bother hiding her scowl as she faced me. “It’s at the beach, suit up.”

  I waited on the front step for Nandy to get ready. Parker and Max had gone into the family room to talk, and I didn’t want to overhear how much of a mess my coming to stay was. Nandy didn’t want me in Pacific Hills any more than I wanted to be in Pacific Hills.

  Just one hundred and fifty-eight more days to go, I reminded myself.

  “Trice?” Jordy came out and sat beside me. He was still wearing some soccer jersey from earlier and a pair of shorts with no shoes on. Back home, hardly anyone walked around barefoot; you had to be ready to go at all times.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “About what you said in
there, to Nandy,” Jordy began, sounding shy. “It got me thinking.” He looked down at the concrete. “Mom and Dad say next summer we’re all going to Thailand to learn about where I come from.” Jordy peered up at me. “And if you can keep a secret, I wasn’t thrilled about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is where I come from, this is my home,” Jordy said. “Mom, Dad, and Nandy are all I know.” He went back to staring down at the concrete. “But hearing what you said—you’re right, I gotta learn about my homeland, because I was born in Thailand, and that’s where I come from.” He gave me a small smile. “Maybe next summer you’ll come with us and learn, too?”

  The kid sounded genuine and nice. He didn’t look at me like I was some thug or murderer. He saw me as some new person attached to his family.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was planning to ditch the Smiths as soon as I was legal. Instead, I just told him, “It would be nice to see someplace new.”

  Nandy came out wearing a see-through tunic over a white bikini. Her hair was up in a bun and, even though it was late and the sun was gone, she wore oversize sunglasses on her head.

  “Come on, Tyson. ’Bye, Jordy.” She flew past us to her car and got in.

  I frowned, hoping I wasn’t about to endure more Lana Del Rey.

  I had to, and I spent the entire ride to the beach planning to invest in downloading more songs on my phone to keep myself busy while receiving rides from Nandy. Her taste in music was terrible, and I’d die before the summer was over if I had to spend every car ride listening to it.

  Nandy parked, and we walked in silence up some street, passing by Mercedes, Range Rovers, and other expensive vehicles to get some small beach house before going toward the backyard, where all the mayhem was taking place. Lights were strung from poles to add a luminescent glow to the scene as music from the nearby back porch played loudly. Some kids danced offbeat in the distance, while others were up and around talking or going for the water.

  Nandy gazed back at me, taking me in from head to toe. “Don’t start any shit, okay?”

  There were only so many times I was going to let her get away with the way she was painting me. I wasn’t some hoodlum, and she needed to get off my back.